Lipstick
by CaptainMajor
Summary: five of Capricorns maids strive to find romance in his village of idiots. M for later chapters. Please R&R. I promise the story is more interesting than the summary.
1. Prologue

_**Prologue**_

I've always been a romantic. A class A believer in fairy tales since the early days. As a toddler growing up in Canada, I moulded myself into what I thought was a perfect little girl. Made up of course of sugar, spice, and everything nice. My romantic background started at the tender age of five, where I had my first boyfriend in Nursery school. Yes, the good old days where all the other children referred to you and your male play mate as an item; just like the Barbie and Ken dolls. I learned at a young age that having a boyfriend came with perks: extra turns on the monkey bars, a bite of his cookie, all the rest.

My first kiss followed in first grade; to a boy named Zachary. During class my girlfriends and I discussed where we'd hold the wedding. Naturally, we chose the small grove of pine trees in the back corner of the school yard. I was happily wed, and my "husband" and I even sealed the deal in front of our small First grade audience with an innocent peck.

Upon playing dolls with my playmates in the years that followed, I assumed the role of the troubled young lady; awaiting her prince charming to sweep her off her feet.

And I'm sure my looks helped a lot too. I was a good looking kid with long silky hair the color of dark coffee. My eyes were clear green, like two perfect marbles pressed symmetrically into milky white almond shaped pools. My lips were perfectly shaped, with a natural smile playing in the corners. And my cheeks had a natural flirty flush. My striking resemblance to Liv Tyler assured that I was the cream of the crop all through Elementary school, where boys followed me through the school yard. I didn't carry _cooties _like many of the other girls in over-alls and pigtails.

Junior High followed, where I briefly appeared on the Grade Seven market before finding myself holding hands with the cutest Grade Seven-er in school: Mathew Harvey.

In High school, I found myself in competition with prettier girls, but my ever-slim figure, growing resemblance to Liv Tyler and ability to make a turtle neck look sexy kept me in the popular A group. I managed to keep a steady relationship with my first love: Charlie. And it was him that introduced me to an even greater love, photography. We met in the school's mixed media class, where we quickly bonded over an undying interest for lenses, aperture settings, shutter speeds. Charlie took me to concerts, to dinners with his family, even on small trips. He was the first boy I'd slept with, and I didn't regret a second of it. But we broke up after High school graduation; he moving on to the United States to study law in Virginia, and I to the University of Alberta, enrolling in General studies.

I stayed sober through University, and studied earnestly and practiced photography, awaiting the day my prince charming came to find me. I thought that was the case when I met Roger; an easy going student with dark hair and expressive eyebrows. It was from I learned that the U of A had a campus in Cortona, Italy. _How Romantic _I'd thought. So I swiftly enrolled to follow Roger to the heart of Tuscany. And that's how it all began...


	2. Chapter One

_**Chapter One **_

I awoke to the sound of my name being repeated over and over again in a husky Italian accent.

"Lena. Lena. _Lena_!"

"For the last time Martina, it's _Lean-uh_!" I said groggily as I smiled and opened my eyes.

"Oh whatever!" She said in fake annoyance. I rubbed the sleep and blur out of my eyes, and Martina's face came into focus. She looked drained; her brown eyes sunken in a little too far. "Just get your ass out of bed and help us make breakfast." She rolled her eyes then strode away, her long black hair streaming behind her. I made a groaning sound as I stretched me legs out, then laughed to myself when I heard Martina bitching to Rosa, whose cell was next to mine. Martina was half Spanish, half Italian. She would look young for the age of thirty two (she was slim and hand nice legs) but her job as a maid left her looking tired and worn out.

I took my time getting out of my cot-bed, dragging my feet across the floor even though I was perfectly awake. Morning sunlight streamed in the small rectangular window of my cell, which had three rested bars keeping me from escaping onto the street. I picked a hairbrush off the desk at the far side of my cell, and ran the bristles through my shoulder length hair. I felt a wave of nostalgia as I remembered how my mother would brush my hair when I was little, sometimes teasing it into a pony tail, which he tied with a flashy ribbon. My thoughts were broken when the sound of something solid being dragged along the metal bars of my cell broke the quiet. I spun around and saw Giulia dragging the heel of her shoe along the bars.

"_Buon giorno_" said the curly haired girl. "Now hurry before Martina has _un attacco d'ira_!"

"Yes, yes, Giulia. I'm coming." I slipped my little feet into my worn red ballet flats. The shoes I'd been wearing the day I'd been kidnapped by men in conspicuous black attire. I remember the day as clearly as if it were yesterday, not a year or so ago. I opened up my own cell (which had been unlocked several hours prior by Mortola- our boss). Giulia let out a most exaggerates sigh, followed by a dramatic:

"_Mama Mia!" _

"What is it today, Giulia?" I asked, ready for her daily rant on how miserable she was, how much she missed her family, how badly she wanted to go shopping, or more recently: her craving for raspberry gelato. I had to agree with her most of the time though... especially on the topic of gelato. Our daily pity parties had somehow bonded us, and Giulia had become my best friend.

"I want a boyfriend" she said. I was surprised that she found something new to speak of; usually she would dwell on a particular subject for a week or two.

"Me too" I found myself saying. I'd always had a boyfriend, since I could remember. "This past year I've felt... lonely..."

"Me too" she sighed, pressing her hands together, as if in prayer. "I miss the kissing" She made a long, exaggerated kissing noise, which made me laugh. I nodded wistfully and remembered all the romantic kisses I'd experienced through the years.

Giulia and I entered the kitchen, where the other maids: Martina, Rosa and Resa were already at work.

"Morning _Signoras_." Said Giulia in her beautiful Italian accent. Everyone murmured some form of greeting. Everyone but Resa.

Resa was the most mysterious of us all. She was the only blonde, and she had no voice. She communicated with sign language, which we all understood- to varying degrees. So most of the time she carried a pad of paper and a pencil in her apron pockets. It was with those tools she enlightened us on the finer details, and if we were lucky, and accompanying sketch. Resa's cell was decorated with an accumulation of sketches of people she said were her family. She was nice enough to draw a loved one for us maids as well. My cell sported a sketch of Charlie, who I missed dearly. Giulia happily slept with a drawing of Brad Pitt under her pillow, and Rosa had requested a sketch of her beloved sister. Martina insisted she didn't need a sketch- she already had a beautiful painting of Mother Theresa in a vintage golden locket she always wore around her neck.

"Its pie day" announced Rosa, her thin fingers plucking a grape from the spindly vines in the carved wooden bowl. Pie day meant it was Friday. Friday meant it was our adventure night.

"Who's picking berries today?" I asked, adjusting my white cotton dress before stealing a handful of grapes. Martina's hair flipped as she cranked her head to get a view of the calendar.

"You and Resa" she growled. She was being her usual cranky self. I looked up and saw Resa give me a smile. She was also being perfectly static and predictable. Usual sad and quiet Resa. I usually don't mind berry picking with Resa. I understood her sign language best, and she usually made a good companion. But today I felt a groan threatening to escape my throat. I was in a peppy mood, and I knew Resa's sulking would depress me. I let it slide, and crammed the grapes in my mouth. They were juicy, sweet, and perfectly sun kissed.

The morning went down like it usually did. Us ladies cooked breakfast, then carried it to Capricorn's church for the black jackets to eat. Capricorn himself had a separate team of maids to cook his personal meals. We 5 catered to his minions instead. We briskly set the tables with mugs of steaming, watery coffee, plates and bowls of bread, fruit and cheese. And, just like every day, I made sure to put more apples than plums at the table where Basta ate breakfast. The man was so odd, he fascinated me. He turned his nose up to nearly every meal, including the delicious pies us maids baked once a week. But I observed that he guzzled coffee and particularly enjoyed apples and peanut butter. A strange man indeed. Perhaps it was his smoking that resulted in his too-slim physique and suppressed appetite. Word reached my ear that he'd been shooting heroin as well. I made a mental note to pay more attention to him during mealtimes. Perhaps he'd tenderly touch his arm and wince painfully- a sure fire sign he'd been sticking needles into his skin.

By the time almost all the tables were set, the black jackets started wandering into the church. I looked up and saw Rosa bite her lip nervously. Out of all of us, she was the most intimidated by the rowdy men. Just as I was about to rescue her, Martina appeared by her side. I quickened my pace, and finished setting the last table with Giulia and Resa.

"Berries?" I said at Resa. I enunciated the word perfectly, so she could read my lips. We weren't allowed to speak in the church. I saw a frown flicker over her face, then she opened her mouth as if to say "oh!" Then she nodded.

Resa and I exited the church, out to the beautiful Italian morning. Birds sang from their perches on the red tin roofs. We walked briskly over the cobbled streets, to the Kitchen where our berry baskets were stored. As I fetched the pale wicker baskets from the cupboards, Resa out a sharp pencil into her pouch- in case we needed to talk.

We walked through the village to the hilly slopes that served as a garden. When I'd first arrived in Italy, I'd been fascinated when I learned that the steep hills rolling across the land had levels carved into their surface. Fruit trees and plants grew in the slopes, and farmers walked the narrow paths, collecting their produce.

When I first started working for Capricorn, I wanted nothing but to work in the gardens. I adored the convoluted pathways and stunning scenery. But as time passed, I learned to dislike the way the hard ball-like dirt got into my flats, how steep the make-shift stairs were, and how narrow the paths really were.

Resa and I picked up speed as we bounced down the short dirt stairs to the garden. I took the lead, walking to the middle of the grove to begin my fruit picking. We called this particular activity berry picking when in truth we plucked plums, pears, nectarines and apples as well.

We spent close to two hours scaling the hillside. When we finally met up in the long grass at the bottom, Resa and I were tired and sweaty. The Italian sun was hot, and the air was heavy and hazy. Our baskets were stuffed to the rum with an accumulation of fat nectarines and blue plums.

"Sometimes" Resa signed "I just want to run." I shook my head in response.

"Where would you go?" It was more a statement than a question. The woman sighed and drooped her head. She then plucked long spades of lush green grass, and used them to tickle her own skin. "Everything is too far away." Then I added mentally that there were dangerous snakes and scorpions just waiting to tag an unsuspecting walker. So I shook my head again, which deflated Resa even more. A long silence enveloped us- even the chirping bugs and cooing doves paused for a break. Then I heard a sniff. I looked up at Resa, and saw tears streaming down her cheeks. Her nose was red and runny, and her lips grew glossy as she began to sob. I squirmed in discomfort before crawling through the long grass to the other woman. I wrapped my arms around the soft red material of her dress, and just hugged her. Eventually her sobs turned to shakes, the shakes to eye and nose wiping, the wiping to sniffing, the sniffing to sighing, then we were enveloped in silence again.

"I know you miss your family" I said. Resa nodded and sighed inwardly. "I'm sure they miss you too." She nodded vigorously. She signed if I missed my family. I replied "yes". Then I thought to myself that I was right this morning: Resa _did _put me in a bad mood. But I brushed it off and focused instead on the rising temperature. "Let's get back to the village" I muttered. I rose to my feet and yawned drowsily. Resa gathered her fruit basket, stared longingly at the vineyard and beyond, then followed me back up the steep slope to the village.


	3. Chapter Two

_**Chapter Two **_

When Resa and I returned to the kitchen, all the other ladies were busy mashing up dough for the pie crusts. They greeted us with a rather peppy "Hello". Fridays always seemed to have a magical effect on us; probably because we made it a tradition to sneak out every Friday night and go on a bit of an adventure. Our little escapades had included late night trips to the cherry orchard, where we climbed the old wooden ladders into the twelve foot trees and ate sweet cherries until we were sure the tree branches would break under out weight. On especially hot evenings we'd make a trip to the river, where we'd skinny dip and tell stories about our past romances under the full Italian moonlight. Other adventures included less exciting fruit raids, drinking fames with stolen alcohol under the kitchen island, truth or dare matches in Giulia's cell, silly things like that. But never once did we try to escape. That was probably because we knew that the black jackets would find us the next morning; lost and confused in some field, with scorpion bites plaguing our ankles. The repercussions would be worse.

"So what's happening tonight, ladies?" I asked, setting my basket of fruit on the massive wooden island. Part of the tradition was that the three left in the kitchen decided on that night's activity. Rosa was the one to announce.

"We were going to walk to the olive trees" she said. I felt my stomach churn a bit, as it usually did when we decided what our weekly adventure would be. The live grove was difficult to get to; it was North East, past the cherry orchard, the elegant leady olive trees grew in stellar rows near sandy clay hills.

"Sounds good" I said with a grin. Resa gave thumbs up.

In the meantime, I washed and sliced the nectarines, setting the sweet pieces into a deep wooden bowl. Resa did the same with the plums. We mixed in our secret spice, then poured the filling into the crusts. I stood back and let Martina's aging, calloused hands pip the sides. She made the pies look as if they came from a bakery.

o/O/o

Usually us maids were busy day un and day out, cooking and cleaning. Bu after the pies were placed in the over, we found ourselves standing around with nothing to do. Resa quickly left the kitchen, and I wondered if she was going to her room to cry.

"I want a boyfriend" Renounced Giulia. Everyone made a pensive "hmm" sounds as they nodded solemnly.

"Ironic" said Rosa, her auburn eyes flicking over to Giulia. "We're surrounded by men."

"We're surrounded by heartless brutes" scoffed Martina. That much was true. Resa padded into the kitchen, her favourite sketchbook under her arm. She pulled a stool over to the island, sat herself down, and stared at the black page- mentally starting her sketch.

"But out of all the heartless brutes, who has the most potential?" Inquired Giulia. She was running her fingers through her soft corkscrew curls.

"Basta" I said automatically. Rosa made a sound of disgust and Martina cast me a scornful glance. Giulia, bless her heart, came to my defence.

"He is the best looking" she chimed. "_Molto allettante_."

"Why not Capricorn" said Marina rather gruffly. "I'd go for the full meal deal."

"It's his fault we're here in the first place." Muttered Rosa, peering into the oven to check on the pies.

"At least he's tall and powerful" said Martina. I rolled my eyes, knowing she was comparing Capricorn with Basta.

"What are you drawing, Resa?" asked Rosa sweetly. I looked over and saw Resa blush as bit before turning to a blank page in her sketchbook. She was hiding her first drawing.

"It was bad" she signed clumsily. This struck me as odd, because Resa never hid a drawing from us. And her sketches usually held amazing likeness and skill. So why was she hiding this particular drawing? I brushed it off though, not wanting to create another kafuffle. Martina and my bickering over Capricorn was enough static for the day.

When noon rolled around, the ladies and I re-set the tables with piles of spicy meats, bread and cheese. It was around this time for day the black jackets enjoyed picking fun at us. Rosa, who was good at biology, explained that their low blood sugar caused some of them to by cranky. I briefly remembered a diagram of a negative feedback loop from grade twelve, illustrating something about glucose being broken down in a body's times of famine. I dismissed this explanation and held fast to my belief that the black jackets were merely cranky and bitter people to begin with.

I ignored the usual un-tempting pick up lines, insults and treats spat at my as I served plates of food to the black jackets.

Hey Babe.

Nice Body.

Why don't you come over here?

Nice ass.

How about you and me get it on?

Stupid men. Although I must admit that their constant cajoling made me feel wanted. I desperately missed having a male companion. I wasn't meant to be single. I was one of those people who _always _had a boyfriend, so the past year spent at Capricorn's, I felt as though I'd lost my touch. I was at the back row of the church, when Basta came in late. He entered the church with an enigmatic expression, and kept his lips sealed together in a straight line. I watched him curiously as he sat at the table, reached across for a pear, and twirl the stem. It was an extremely girly action, reminding me of the stupid 'he loves me, he loves me not' games. Memories of the eight grade came back to me very suddenly.

I remembered sitting in the school cafeteria with my friends Emma and Christie. It was well into the month of January, and heavy white snow fell from the sky in a persistent flurry, covering the ground in a heavy 2 foot blanket. Emma pulled a gala apple from her blue lunch bag and made a face.

"Who wants it?" She's asked.

"Me" was my reply. I took the apple from her hand and twisted the stem as I said the alphabet.

"What's she doing?" Asked Emma. Christie explained that the letter the stem broke off at was the first initial of your crush- or true love.

The stem broke at W.

"Who starts with W?" Asked Emma, disbelieving.

"Wade Ryan" I'd said, my gaze ripping over to the modest brunette boy sitting a few tables to our left. He had a wide face and troubled brows and honest green eyes. That suited me just fine- I was attracted to boys with green eyes.

As I stood there in Capricorn's church, I strained to remember what happened to Wade. Then I briefly recalled something about a Humvee accident and the military.

Basta flicked the stem at the black jacket sitting across from him. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Martina coming my way, so I quickly motioned to her that I had Basta's table covered. I saw her roll her eyes, then busy herself elsewhere. After taking a deep breath, I sauntered up to where Basta was seated, and filled his coffee stained mug with water. His eyes briefly flicked up at my face, then he turned his attention to the pear he had yet to eat. I smiled to myself- Basta had gorgeous blue green eyes.

By the time we'd finished washing dishes for the second time that day, I was anxious for night to fall and for our late night trek to the olive grove to begin. Martina was the last one to finally pull her hands from the soapy water and announce that she'd had enough of washing dishes.

"Cheer up, Martina" chirped Giulia, who was sitting on the counter and eating a plum. "Play time is coming soon." As Martina grumbled under her breath, I found myself yearning to run through the olive grove and climb up the branches. "Ouch!" I looked up in surprise and watched Giulia singe the tips of her dainty fingers on the pie tin, which she'd just removed from the oven. Martina scolded Giulia for her carelessness, and removed the other pies by herself, lining them up side by side on the tile counter. Steam escaped the vents on the golden brown pie pastries and created a steamy cloud in the spacious kitchen. They smelled delicious. Suddenly Rosa began fiercely humming the short tune from 'The Wizard of Oz'- the one where the Wicked Witch of the West appeared in the twister. In other words: Mortola was coming.

We quickly scrambled into position: Martina snatching a broom, Giulia pretending to dry dishes, Rosa dashed over to a cupboard, Resa and I wiped the crumbs off the island. And just in the nick of time. Mortola entered the kitchen, a nasty expression on her face.

"The pies?" She snapped, looking at each of us as if she'd like to squish us under her shoe.

"Are done" said Martina, her voice icy as it usually was when she dealt with our boss. The older woman didn't have anything to say to Martina. She merely glared at her before storming over to the line of pies. We all knew she was going to take the finest to Capricorn.

She poked each pie but one, reminding me of an expression my Grade twelve teacher had used in Social studies to describe some politicians: "some people like to have a finger in every pie." This saying had made me laugh, generating a mental image of a fat, balding man in a suit- punching his short, stubby fingers into an array of pies.

I found myself giggling as Mortola continued to prod our delicacies.

"What are you laughing at?" Snapped the old woman. Out of my peripherals, I saw Giulia and Rosa widen their eyes and open their mouths in horror.

"Nothing" I sputtered, the urge to laugh just too great to resist. I just had to let it go. I tried sucking my lips into my mouth, but I ended up exploding with laughter. To my even greater amusement, Giulia started laughing too.

"THATS ENOUGH!" Cried Mortola, her angry voice only further provoking our amusement. Pretty soon all three of us were red in the face, but Mortola was far from pleased. "Come with me" she snarled. "The both of you~" As I controlled me laughter to mere sputters, I saw Martina, Rosa and Resa gape at us in disbelief and shock. I knew that this would be the main topic of conversation in the olive grove tonight. Before we left the building, Mortola shoved all of the pies in Giulia and I'd arms. We exchanged confused glances as we marched up the streets to Capricorn's mansion.

"What's going on?" I mouthed to Giulia over an armful of piping hot pies.

"I dunno" she mouthed back. Mortola shoved open the door to Capricorn's fine house. I had to blink my eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. The air-conditioning felt nice on my skin, which was overheated from the steam escaping from the pies. Several maids dressed in black dresses and red aprons stopped what they were doing and watched us scuttle down the hall after Mortola.

We stopped before a grand set of white double doors with brass snake shaped handles. Mortola rapped at the wood, awaiting her son's welcome.

"Come in" we the chilling, bone aching reply. Capricorn's voice wasn't one easily forgotten. Unlike Basta and several other underlings, Capricorn held not a slurry British-like accent. His voice was instead flat and deep. It could just have easily been a monster that invited us into the study.

"These two _skanks_ have a confession to make" stated Mortola, motioning for us to put the pies down on the long, glossy table. Giulia and I stared at each other, alarmed. What confession? Did Mortola know about our Friday night adventures?

"What confession?" Asked Capricorn. I refused to look up at him. I knew all too well that he was perched in an armchair at the end of the table, dressed in red. It could just as well have been the devil himself. But I felt a nudge on my ankle. I looked up at Giulia, who flicked her eyes in Capricorn's direction. Just as Mortola began rambling on about something, I saw why Giulia had motioned for me to look. Capricorn wasn't seated in his grand chair. He was in fact standing beside it, looking somewhat flustered. And to his left, slumped but still standing with his back to the wall, was Basta. My heart jumped and I felt as if I'd been poked with a jolt of electricity. The man didn't look up at me- he kept his gaze fixated on the toes of his black combat boots.

"I think they've poisoned the pies" stated Mortola.

"_Cosa?_" Cried Giulia.

"No!" I cried, shocked that Mortola would come to such a conclusion.

"Then why were you laughing?" She snapped, her glare dangerous.

"No, no! You just reminded me of a politician, with your fingers in the pies and all!" I sputtered. I heard a small, handsome laugh come from Basta. Mortola didn't find it at all amusing.

"Shut up, Basta" she snarled. "And I don't believe you. Eat the pies." She ordered.

"All of them?" Protested Giulia, wide-eyed.

"IS there something you're trying to hide?" Barked the old woman. Giulia and I groaned. "Eat a piece out of each pie and prove they're not poisoned." Giulia and I exchanged glances before accepting two forks from Mortola. Just as I was about to take my first bite, Basta spoke.

"I'll be leaving now" He announced, his voice a slur trailing with disgust. His footsteps echoed slightly as he breezed past my shoulder and exited the room. The door slammed behind him, leaving only the four of us in the grand study.

"Well, eat" purred Capricorn, sinking into his chair. I took in a deep sigh, then poked into the first pie. The filling was beautiful red and orange- it was nectarine. I took a confident bite, jutting my chin out stubbornly at Mortola. I chewed the delicious pie, swallowed, then poked into the second- a plum one.

Giulia and I's pie derby lasted no more than ten minutes. When Mortola was convinced that we weren't trying to poison her boss, she said we could leave. I heard Giulia sigh in relief. As I stood up and turned to exit the room, I became aware of several little puddles of blood on the floor. I frowned in confusion but when I noticed that the trail led to the door, I realised it must have been from Basta.


End file.
